Revelation Resolution
by Jenn1984
Summary: "Are you telling me you want to seek revenge on Moriarty?" - Mycroft and Sherlock reach an agreement.


Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

Thanks to musicalluna1 for the beta.

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><p>Mycroft Holmes walks down the hospital hallway on a mission. It's apparent with every striking step against the floor and people move quickly from his path in order to avoid him completely. His importance shows in his stride and on his face, even to those who have absolutely no idea who he is.<p>

He stops momentarily to grab a sandwich off a rolling cart, much to the dismay of the nurse pushing it, who seems to be struggling with the wheels, which are catching on the door of the elevator. Surely Mycroft could care less of her irritated huffs, but he pointedly glares anyway, just to satisfy his own annoyance, and she slinks back behind the doors. Swiftly turning, with a swish of his umbrella, he's back to his pointed walk to the room at the end of the hall.

Bracing himself for the arguments he's sure to face once inside, Mycroft swings the door open slowly and devours every single detail, all of which are exactly the same as they were when he turned off his camera and decided to make a personal trip to this very room.

White bedsheets remain crisp over the unmoving Doctor John Watson, while wires and tubes and machines with continuous beeps, which hit his ears every few seconds, take up a vast majority of the small space. John is okay, he's been assured, in serious but stable condition, but it's not the doctor he's worried about at this very moment. Beside John's bed sits an equally unmoving Sherlock, legs drawn up to his chest, hands clasped as if in prayer (though Mycroft knows he's simply in thought), fingers against his lips.

Sherlock hasn't moved, save for the occasional trip to the loo, for three consecutive days. His hair and clothing are horribly ragged, the dark circles beneath his eyes deep and clashing against his pale skin. Mycroft can hardly stand the sight of him anymore.

"Sherlock." He says his brother's name sharply, knowing full well that he'll be ignored.

"Sherlock, you need to at least eat something," Mycroft tries, waving the sandwich around before moving further into the room and placing it on the nightstand next to John's bed.

Sherlock takes a deep breath in and slightly shakes his head.

"Don't give me that, now, I'm being kind enough letting you stay here without any questions asked. I could have had you removed, you know."

Even Mycroft knows he doesn't sound convincing. Less demanding this time, he says, "At least a few bites, to ease my mind."

He gets a quick response of, "Not hungry." It's mumbled between long fingers, barely audible, and Mycroft purses his lips.

"Humor me," he adds softly, placing what he hopes is a comforting hand on his younger brother's shoulder. Sherlock doesn't shrug it off.

It's another few minutes of silence before Sherlock opens his mouth to speak again. "I find it strange," he says, his fingers still against his lips.

"What's that?" Mycroft asks, removing his hand from Sherlock's shoulder and turning to stand next to him, to look at his face.

Sherlock continues. "Strange how someone could care so much." He squints his eyes as if trying to think of the right words. "How someone could care so much that he would put himself in harm's way for someone else."

Mycroft glances at John and feels a pang of...well, _something_, in the pit of his stomach. The man had saved his brother from Moriarty's deadly game (a habit of the criminal mastermind's that was becoming a thorn in Mycroft's side), almost paying with his own life. It's fierce loyalty that Mycroft is painfully thankful for, but at the same time uneasy about and, having only admitted it to himself, it left him a little intimidated.

"It's a strange thing, brother dear. Very strange."

Sherlock nods slowly, face still scrunched in thought, eyes still locked on John. "I have one friend in the entire world, Mycroft, and he's lying here right now on this unnaturally white hospital bed and it's all because of me." He tilts his head, almost fondly, adding, "And for the very first time, I think I can truly and most fully grasp a man's thirst for revenge."

The words aren't a shock to Mycroft's ears. He had been watching Sherlock for three days, the changes in him blatant to a trained eye such as his own.

"Are you telling me you want to seek revenge on Moriarty?" he asks, his voice careful and free of any judgement. Sherlock's head snaps up at him, not a second later, full intensity behind those light eyes, burning in the way that sometimes takes Mycroft aback.

"I want to _destroy him_."

The words are spoken so violently and with such force that Mycroft is almost fearful. Yet, he begins to mentally organize the list of favors he's going to be calling in within the next few hours.

Sherlock turns back to John, completely satisfied at the agreement he and Mycroft just made without ever saying it out loud.

"I'll go make some calls," Mycroft says matter-of-factly, reaching for the sandwich and holding it under Sherlock's nose. "After you take a bite."

Sherlock glares at Mycroft, reluctantly taking the sandwich as his brother turns to leave.

"Don't try to trick me, either. I have cameras."

With a smirk, Mycroft twirls his umbrella in a full circle as he steps out of the room, the sound of chewing behind him. It's a small victory, one he'll savor for a few moments before the harsh reality of this entire situation begins to set in.

Mycroft Holmes is in for a very long evening.

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><p>Hope you enjoyed!<p> 


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